


New York Friends

by k4writer02



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k4writer02/pseuds/k4writer02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo goes to Mrs. Kirke’s in New York. But her sensational writing isn’t the only scrape she omits from her letters home. Professor Bhaer isn’t the only friend she makes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shimi/gifts).



“Miss Norton had the entree into most society, which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her. The solitary woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly conferred many favors of this sort both on Jo and the Professor.” Chapter 34 A Friend

Freshly arrived in New York, feeling lonely and shy, Jo sat in a serviceable but not overly comfortable chair, studying the oddly shaped room she was trying to describe cheerfully for Marmee and Beth. All she really wanted to do was have a good cry, but Jo knew that work and cheerfulness would keep her on the right path in this city.

After praising Mrs. Kirke, which she can do sincerely and warmly, she settles on an essentially truthful:  
“She gave me a funny little sky parlor—all she had; but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so I can sit here and write whenever I like. A fine view and a church tower opposite atone for the many stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot.”

She doesn’t mention that the stove tends to smoke if she adds more than one piece of fuel, which interrupts writing tremendously. The view is very fine, but the window is so high that, tall as Jo is, she can only see it fully when standing on the chair. It’s lonely, being so far from those who love her. It is, however, as snug as her garret back home, and she is here for an adventure, for new society.

She finds it in Professor Bhaer, who she fills sheets of paper about, because she knows he would be a friend to Father. And he amuses her, and he’s kind, and he has one of Beth’s qualities—-the ability to make friends everywhere, in more places than even he knows. He is wise, and Jo is hungry for learning. But there is another who teaches her things, through that long winter and the blessed spring, at the beginning of summer.

Jo cannot help noticing and embracing the finest of Mrs. Kirke’s household--Friedrich Bhaer and Helen Norton.

She tells Marmee: “I don't think I shall care to have much to do with any of them [the boarders], except one sweet-faced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something in her.”

This is not quite what Jo meant. What she does not realize she wants to say is that she looked at this woman and recognized a piece of herself. Though Jo always wished she had been born a boy, she is conscious every moment that she is a woman. She loves her sisters and mother, but for the most part, she disdains the society of women. They flutter, fidget, giggle. And watching them leaves Jo feeling something fluttering in her breast, in her stomach.

This one inspires that fluttering feeling, but somehow, Jo can tell that the woman feels the same tremor.

The feeling is not her bosom enemy, her quick temper and sharp tongue. But it’s something akin to it, and Jo fears what words might bubble out of her if she actually spoke. As disastrous as she can be in social settings, she is aware that she could do something worse.

She generally prefers boys, even though she’s too old now to play cricket. She started to rethink her preference, after an incident in the library. She was in a very small niche in the Laurence's library searching for a volume she needed to consult on some arcane point of geography when some of the young men of Laurie’s class came in and took seats on the sofa. They lit cigars and she could not make her presence known, because she was still wearing the ridiculous scribbling suit—she hadn’t expected to meet anyone, knowing that the old gentleman and Laurie were out for the day. Jo didn’t mind being a joke or a guy, but this was too much.

The college men began discussing young ladies, from college and Concorde. The ravishing Miss Randal, the estimable Miss Amy, and other girls with less reputation and other charms. Jo’s own name was not mentioned. Their talk turned to two of the dancing girls who took a room together, with one bed. To Jo, this did not sound at all strange—she slept with Meg till her eldest sister married, and often misses the warmth of another body in the bitter cold of winter. But it’s apparent that the boys don’t think that the women are chaste bedfellows, which Jo can’t quite comprehend. She goes hot and cold, trying to imagine.

It’s the only time Jo doesn’t really like these men, for she understands that even when they speak admiringly of figure or energy in the dance, they mean…something else. She wants to scold them, but is too innocent to understand the sins they are compounding.

Their talk is not the simple admiration of health or exercise. There seems something lewd in their speculation, which Jo cringes from. But she has never asked, fearing that she’d be forbidden the society of Laurie’s friends. She has resolved here, to make friends where she can, because she is nervous at the turn Laurie’s friendship seems to be taking. Perhaps men are not the best choice.

She learns more about the woman in the boarding house, in whom she recognizes some kindred spirit. She writes to her family: “The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated, and kind. She spoke to me at dinner today (for I went to table again, it's such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her at her room. She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting persons, and seems friendly, so I shall make myself agreeable, for I do want to get into good society, only it isn't the same sort that Amy likes.”

Jo is simply blissful at the invitation. She likes sensible people, women and men alike, and she admires books and learning. But the phrase “Rich, cultivated, and kind” seems insufficient to express her admiration of Miss Norton (Helen). Jo is amazed that such a woman noticed a tall, blundering girl like her. The woman is brave, to be an old maid here. She seems not even to think or worry about it, which appeals to independent Jo.

Over dinner, they trade opinions on poetry and art and New York and to a girl who lived at home with the same people and opinions for so many years, such conversation is a feast of surprises.

But Jo did not come to New York only to make friends, and she devotes herself to work with a will. She sees Miss Norton down the stairs but does not call out or slide on the banister (as she is occasionally tempted to do).

She does stop into Miss Norton’s room, answering the invitation. It’s a haven, sweet smelling and filled with lovely books and fresh flowers and truly wonderful pictures. It’s airy and bright, an extraordinary feat in the boarding house. Miss Norton sees Jo’s eyes wander to the bookshelf and invites her to study them while she makes coffee. She arranges bon bons on a plate, and Jo’s mouth waters at the luxuries offered to her.

Jo studies the shelves, which are ornamented with curiosities—a little painted silk fan that might be from distant China or Japan, ivory beads, feather plumes from birds Jo has never seen, a marvelously well done small replica of Venus d’Milo. Jo knew sacred art, but she flushed a little at the nakedness of the little statue.

Miss Norton watched her watch, and Jo felt herself flush. But the older lady said nothing, just served the fragrant coffee in the finest bone china.

Jo looked around her, noticing a lovely sketch of a Botticelli masterpiece, and there a Titian. She smiled quizzically, and said: “Pardon me, I thought your name was Helen, but your room seems filled with Venus instead.”

Here, Miss Norton laughed. “Oh, I have poetry enough about Helen, and Shakespeare’s Helena, but I’m not vain enough to invite the comparison.”

Jo wished to hide her face, so she busied herself with the magnificent coffee.

Miss Norton gracefully redirected the conversation and soon the women were talking of other treasures—in addition to the painted silk fan, there was one carved in jade, and another of a curious light sandalwood, from India, where it is always hot and elephants walk about.

The conversation naturally turned from classic to modern literature, and Joe was amazed to learn so many of her idols live in New York, and how many more were acquainted with her new neighbor. There followed an artful little speech inviting Jo to accompany her new friend to musical performances, literary evenings, the Lyceum, and other little parties. Jo accepted, humble and grateful, and actually pressed her hostess’s hands.

Miss Norton looked startled a moment, but a smile warmed her sweet face. She kissed Jo’s cheek before she left, and invited her to return often. But what was there in the apartment but fans and feathers and luxury? The chaos of the professor’s parlor seemed to take more of Jo’s energy, and she became more involved in German lessons.

She wrote of the visit: “Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, who has a room full of pretty things, and who was very charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her escort, if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I'm sure Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such people don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully.”

She failed to recount all the marvelous events they attended together, arm in arm, strong young Jo March and sweet Helen Norton. They became something of a fixture, until German lessons and the children and scribbling for the Weekly Volcano and a strange evening separated them.

Miss Norton coaxed Jo to the theater for a magnificent operatic Hamlet. She wrote home about Professor Bhaer’s gift of Shakespeare to her. She claimed that discussing it with him led to her new appreciation for the master, but it was truly the clenched excitement of the darkened theater. Thomas took liberties with his source, but Jo didn’t fault him too deeply.

Another night, they saw Aida. Jo did not have Laurie or Beth’s gifts for music, but after the tenor aria, Jo felt tears on her lashes, found that at some time she had interlaced her fingers with Miss Norton’s. Hastily, she dropped the hand, and turned with an apology on her lips. But Helen’s eyes were also full, and Jo found herself grateful for Marmee’s teaching about nice handkerchiefs--for once, she had a nice one to share.

They sipped champagne in the intermission, and Jo’s head swam with the richness of the sound, the clothes, the company, the unfamiliar drink.

The elder maiden lady escorted Jo up the stairs to her tower room, and helped Jo out of her dress and into a shift. Jo tumbled onto the bed. Sighing, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and exclaimed “Oh, this is the nicest feeling, isn’t it, Miss Norton?”

Miss Norton smiled a little and said, “I think you might call me Helen now, if you like.”

Jo looked startled, “Well, I will, if you like.”

Later that week, Jo invited Helen to her garret, made comfortable with an oil lamp and the stove, to read poetry while Jo mended and sewed. Mrs. Kirke was gone, but Jo missed the domesticity of sharing such tasks with others, so she invited Helen, thinking only that this would lighten burdens.

They shared gingerbread nuts Jo bought for the occasion, and relived the thrilling operas, and talked about a new volume of poetry. To read aloud, Helen had brought some poetry by an ancient Greek poetess, Sappho, and as Jo’s hand’s became busy setting the heel of a new sock, she listened, mute, to words that frightened and excited her.

This, then, was passion. These were words that she hadn’t known were in her heart. She kept her eyes down till Helen Norton’s pause became unbearable, and Jo lifted her eyes.

There was a question sparkling in Helen’s eyes, and without quite knowing it, Jo answered with her mute confusion and lowered eyes.

A little after, Jo yawned, and Miss Norton gave a little exclamation, “Oh, it’s late and you’re tired, my dear.”

Jo nodded, and looked forlorn for a moment, because she suddenly felt rather lonely.

Miss Norton bent and kissed Jo’s forehead rather tenderly, and Jo was asleep the moment the fire in the stove had been banked.

Miss Norton sighed a bit, and that was the last the two were alone at the theater or at home. It was not in her to initiate or educate this ambitious, handsome, intelligent girl into the wonders of Sappho. The Concorde girl probably never heard of a Boston marriage.

But the fire of that night fueled several of Jo’s sensation stories—one more thing about them that she would not have wanted to explain to any of the folks at home, should they have seen what she produced that year. One more reason to be certain she was right to refuse Laurie.

Safer by far to look at fairy stories with a venerable professor and play with children. But sometimes, she dreamed of the night she listened to Sappho by lamplight and answered the unspoken question differently.

Mostly, she lived content, for Jo was born to live among men. Even if she had answered Helen’s question differently, she could not have given up Plumfield and her school, and her boys.

She made sure though, that her girls, particularly Nan, had the chance to make choices. She wrote her stories, dreamed her dreams, worked for women’s rights, and Josephine March practiced the fairness and independence she preached.

In the twilight of her life, after the little college had sprung up out of her little school, shortly after she’d become a widow, she remembered the wisdom and education and library and treasure trove and wrote to Miss Norton, inviting her to visit and teach a lecture to the young girls, some of whom could learn much from her. Somehow, Jo had never lost track of this second friend from New York, who had lived a useful, if sometimes lonely life.

Her manners and educated taste pleased the Laurences and Mrs. Brooke, and her bearing impressed even the sillier of the girls. But somehow, seeing Jo, who was still so thin and tall, embracing the sweet faced woman brought tears to many eyes. Helen stayed and settled in at Plumfield, to the surprise of Jo’s boys. It suited them all, though, and they grew wiser and kinder together through their years of teaching.

**Author's Note:**

> I know you wanted femslash, and this was about as close as I felt I could get in Alcott’s world. I hope you liked it.


End file.
